the return
by Distinctly M.E
Summary: When you're gone for awhile, the atmosphere can shift...
1. the return

"Hello."

"Hello, brother."

The tension in the room, spanning the gap between the two men, nearly crackles in its tangiblity.

"Did you find a spot for your horse?"

"Yeah. I helped build the barn, remember?"

"Huh."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

"Since when have you made disgruntled noises and not meant anything?"

White knuckles imply unthrown punches as a new set boots sounds on the staircase.

"Adam! We were expecting you tomorrow! I wanted to meet you in—"

"The stage came early."

"I'll be upstairs. Call me when dinner's ready."

"Now wait just a—"

"I'll be upstairs. It's not like I'm leaving for God only knows how long or anything like that. I would _never_ do something like that."

Again the tension, stretching as the space between them grows and yet somehow remaining just as thick, broken only by an awkward clearing of the throat.

"Have a seat, son. How was your trip?"

"Uneventful. The train makes things so much easier."

"How are May and the girls?"

"Your grandnieces are growing into lovely young women, completely enamored with the idea of having a great uncle who's a real life cowboy. It was all I could do to keep them from stowing away in my trunk."

"I should write to May again and invite her out."

"You know she won't come?"

"That's not the point of an invitation, Adam."

"I just wanted to be sure you knew."

"Yes."

"…you've both taken it hard. I see it in your faces."

"It's…been a rough couple of years. Yes."

Across the room, the grandfather clock chimes the hour, and both turn instinctively to it. The noise fills the silence, and for just a moment the discomfort is eased.

"I wanted to be here, you know… But the letter got lost and I didn't know until…"

"I know, Adam. I forgave you long ago."

"And Joe?"

"Joe was married."

"Was?"

"I never mentioned it in my letters. It was…his news. And then his grief."

"How long has it been?"

"Almost a year."

"Wow."

"He's getting better."

"Yeah?"

"I heard him laughing with a few of the hands recently."

"Pa, I'm sorry I haven't been here…"

"Adam. You did what you had to do. You chased your dream, just as I chased mine. I'm just glad to see you now."

"Missing the funeral haunts me every day. I…I stopped by the grave on my way here."

"How long are you home for?"

"I'm not sure."

"You _are_ welcome here."

"I got that impression."

"Joe's been hurt…is hurting. Give him time; you're brothers."

"Some brother I've been."

"I've had a reoccurring nightmare about adopting a bratty red-headed teenager. Trust me, you have nothing on this kid in terms of bad-brotherhood."

"Seriously, Pa."

"Give him time, Adam."

"Sure. I'll do that."

"I've made up your old room for you."

"Thanks."

"Unless you had something else in mind…?"

"No. My room is perfect. I chose its location, remember?"

"Oh, trust me, I heard your brothers complain about it often enough that I couldn't forget if I tried."

"I think I'll head up and wash for dinner. Travis Benet is supposed to bring my trunk out later; if he arrives, would you just holler at me? I don't want for you to have to carry it up."

"I'm not as old as I look…"

"Mmmhmm. How many candles were on your cake last year?"

"Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies."

"At least you didn't burn the place down. That would have been inconvenient."

"It's good to have you home, Adam."

"It's good to be…home."


	2. part 2

Things were never the same after Adam left.

Sure, they got to be all right, and we settled into a routine and learned to like it okay, but something left the Ponderosa when my stoic brother rode away into the sunset, and we never did get it back.

Pa learned to balance the books properly, just as Hoss and I learned to pitch in. It took three Cartwrights to do the job of one Cartwright. And that was just a bit sad.

And so we all grew older, we all grew wiser, and Pa never quit pining away for his lost boy.

Sometimes, in the blacker moments, Hoss and I would refer to our Prodigal Son brother. Now that term seems more appropriate than ever.

Pa's open-armed welcome rankles. Bites.

I get how that older brother felt, 'cept I'm the younger brother. Staying put and being the dutiful son was supposed to be Adam's job. I suppose that bothers me as much as anything.

Pa and Adam got back into contact about a year ago. Seems the telegram never got delivered that Pa sent to say that…that Hoss had died. That's the story Adam tells. He says that the letter got lost, too.

The one stained with Pa's tears, the one that his hand could hardly write after the funeral for shaking so hard.

And then suddenly the letter miraculously showed up, out of the blue, and Adam's heart was like to break with a sudden outpouring of affection for the brother who he'd never thought to care about since he left. And so he wrote to Pa.

And now, after plenty of stalling and postponing, he's here.

On the Ponderosa.

As if everything that has happened amounts to nothing and he's just going to be welcomed back to his childhood home with open arms from everyone.

News flash, Adam: life doesn't work that way.

I've stopped caring.

I've moved on.

So stop by Hoss' headstone, speak your empty 'respects' and move on. Because I have no desire to share my home with a scoundrel.

And I'm not going to sit by and let you break Pa's heart again.

Not going to let you break my heart again.


	3. part 3

The days right after Adam left rank right up there with all the funerals I've attended in terms of heartache. I mean, you lose people you love, bury them under six feet of unfeeling soil, and you think that's the worst it can hurt.

But when the separation is soil above ground, when it's miles and miles of road leading to God knows where, and that someone you love is choosing to put it between you…that's a different grief entirely.

As a father, I rejoiced with him in his decision to go. I really did. I know what it's like to leave your father's house to follow a dream.

There is nothing like that feeling anywhere in the world.

Because that feeling is the world.

Yet at the same time, as a father, my heart ached for my son. And I gained a new appreciation for the courage my father showed when he let me go.

To be totally honest, I considered helping his horse come up lame the night before he left. I really did.

Noble, honest Ben Cartwright nearly turned into a dishonest scoundrel there for a minute.

I didn't, though. I smiled and I hugged him and I said goodbye.

Fate showed no such kindness with Hoss.

Adam disappeared for years. No letters. No telegrams. No word of mouth from drifters who'd seen most of the country in the last month.

Then a quick letter three years ago saying he was alive and living near my east coast family. My sister Lucy had died, but her daughter May had started a family of her own, and Adam was a welcome cousin and adopted uncle.

That soothed my heart some, to know that he was safe and in good company, and a few letters were exchanged before he went silent again.

And then that silence became loud with my grief as I lost another son, this time irreversibly, and I was reminded again what it felt like to have my heart torn from my chest.

Joseph's grief flashed up brightly in his all-or-nothing manner, but my boy rallied to my side despite his own hurting and supported me through my pain.

That's maybe one flower that blossomed from the darkness of Adam's absence: Joseph stepped into his shoes and grew from a hot-headed kid into a wise and caring man.

I hope Adam will be able to see that past the cold shoulder Joe has turned on him. And I can only hope that Joe will be able to see past his own heartbreak to the mask Adam conceals his own under.


End file.
